Maddie did not feel good. A cinderblock had fallen flat in her stomach. “If anything comes out, my mom—”
“It won’t. I promise,” said Rhee, trying to mollify her. “I’ve got it covered. Just don’t make it harder for me to keep it covered. And remember, this is a direct line to me, day or night.”
“OK. Thanks.” Maddie hung the phone up, then wandered more than walked back to her lunch table. She sat down and tried to ignore the expectant faces Tommy and company were giving her. But she couldn’t. She looked them all in the eye, extending the moment, then shrugged. “It was just my sister. Calling me from college.”
Tommy gave her a withering gaze. “Your sister is called ‘Lockdown’?”
Maddie sucked her teeth at him. “No, silly. That’s her boyfriend. He works for a tech firm. She’s an intern. They gave them some free phones. She sent it here ’cause my mom is a spaz.”
“All parents are spazzes. Like I think it’s something that happens to their minds when they give birth,” said Allie.
“What about dads? They don’t give birth,” said Zara.
“Dads are just . . . I don’t know—dads. They are nuts. Remember how your dad wanted your date with Ralph last year to be at a shooting range for ‘family’ night?”
“Sounds cool,” said Maddie, happy for a new subject.
“Sooo not cool. My dad hates guns. And . . .”
Maddie was happy to have the focus off herself, though a corner of her mind would not let the missing girls go. Something itched her about it. She just did not know what.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Pain pulsed like a smoldering fire, leaving her shoulders numb. She tried to move her head, but doing so felt like ramming it into iron spikes. She started to lift her hand to rub the pain away. Her hand made it two inches before stopping. Puzzled, she tried instead to lift her head again. Panic set in when she could not.
Then a wave of memory crashed into her. Getting off work late, drinks at happy hour, flirting with the cute guys hanging out at the bar, going with them to a parking spot hidden in the park, the sweet pinch of the needle, burning fire and then—nothingness.
She issued a croaking moan, but her mouth was too dry for it to gain any volume. She succeeded only in hocking a few flecks of spit onto her chin. She started thrashing when she tried to get up and could not. She could feel restraints on her legs and arms. A pit of blackness imploded inside as the import of her situation dawned on her. Adrenaline spiked through her, energizing renewed struggles against the restraints on her limbs.
“Don’t waste your energy.”
The voice sounded female. Unable to move her head, the girl strained her eyes in its direction, desperate to see the person who had spoken. “Help. Help me.”
A young face with long sandy-blond hair stepped to her side, looking down at the struggling girl with fascinated indifference. “Sorry, no one can help you now.”
The words caused a whimper to bubble up and out of the chained girl.
“Silence that weak mewling!”
The sharp command came from her right side. The voice cracked at the end of the sentence, robbing it of the strength it was meant to convey. That did not stop its effect. Terror filled her soul.
Then the smell hit her—a mixture of antiseptic and bleach overlaying an undercurrent of fear, urine, and human waste. It reminded her of a nursing home scrubbed to the bone in a desperate bid to dispel the scent of impending death and soiled clothes.
Her eyes darted to the right as another figure stepped beside her. The dim light obscured his face. All she could discern was the figure’s long, draping hair.
“Where, where am I? Can you help me? Please.”
Fingers caressed the side of her face. “Worry not,” said a lilting voice. “Allah shall help you soon. Very soon.”
The words smothered her in fear. She knew nothing about Allah, but she did know that people who talked like that meant her no good. If the restraints had not informed her of her predicament, the man’s words had. She whimpered again as she began to hyperventilate.
Her captor merely smiled. “Has she been cleansed?” he asked, addressing the figure that had spoken to her first.
“What does that mean? What does that mean?” she shrieked. “What are you going to do to me? Why am I here?”
A hard slap to the face silenced her. It also clarified her situation. A pillar of fear beyond despair released any control of her bowels. Embarrassment and shame permeated down to a cellular level as the stench from soiling herself reached her nostrils. The figure stepped backward. She imagined the two people wrinkling their noses in disgust.
Then another slap came fast and hard.
“Control yourself, ya Kalib.”
The tone held an undercurrent of future violence. She clenched all over, making the mess she had made of herself more uncomfortable.
“Get her cleaned up!”
“Na’am sayyidi.”
She heard a step toward her, then felt a jab of pain in her neck. She passed out before she could call out.
When the girl woke it was to the twin shocks of needle-sharp cold water spraying her face and body. She was naked and chained to a chair. She whipped her head back and forth, desperate to keep the high-pressure water from going into her eyes and mouth.
“Sto—,” she tried to scream and only got a choking mouth of water for her trouble. The stream gave no quarter, hitting her face and all sides of her body. It got worse when it moved closer. The pounding pressure, directed toward areas below her waist, increased. Then a hand forced her leg up a little, and she felt the jet of water hitting her under her seated thighs.
Finally, the water stopped, cut off by her captor. The two people walked over to her and just stared, their eyes roving over her from head to toe.
“Are you going to kill me?” she asked.
The figures tossed their hair, sending a long patch of it over their shoulders, then smiled thin and cruel. “Oh, death will be given to you, have no doubt about that. But not today.”
Without another word, the two people stepped behind the girl then onto a locking mechanism at the bottom of the chair on which she sat. Movement made her dizzy as she felt the chair pushed out of a communal shower resembling the ones at her gym. A short hallway was adjacent to the shower entrance.
When her chair reached the end of the hall and entered a far room, all she could do was whimper.
The figure pushing her bent down to whisper in her ear. “See, filthy ya Kalib, today is not your day for there are many others before you.”
An extended arm stretched before her eyes and pointed to a large room full of metal cages. Each held a girl. A moment after a low-keening whimper poured from her mouth, the person started pushing her chair forward again.
“I promise you though, you will pray for your day to come. Of that I can assure you.”
Takedown
A Madison Jennings Story
Chapter Fifty
Ihtisham had saved the mouthy one for last. She was entitled beyond the rest of the weak American women. The others had accepted their situation with little mewling or fight. Even when the pangs of withdrawal hit them, they fought to maintain their silence. To do otherwise would bring pain beyond the poison to which they had addicted themselves.
But this one was different.
“My father is an important man. My father is friends with senators and congressmen. You better let me go. Important people are looking for me.” These had been the words she chattered for hours after her arrival. Ihtisham’s leader, Maleek, had lost patience with the girl and beaten her senseless. He compounded her punishment by refusing to give her even a small dose of the sweet drug responsible for her capture.
Yet, even then she fell back on her self-importance in her lucid moments, moving from what her father would do to them to what he could do for them. “My father is rich. He will pay you anything. Just call him. You will see. He will pay any amount.”
Ihtisham sneered as the begging conversation replayed in his mind. Americans always fell back on their God of choice: money. If you had money, then you felt you could get anything. Money—the root of their invasion into Muslim lands for the acquisition of oil. Money was their weapon of choice for the weak and mislaid efforts to turn Muslim against Muslim. If you gave them an endless supply of seven pieces of silver, they believed the world and all within it were theirs to do with as they wished.
It would be their downfall, Allah be praised. It would be this impetuous harridan’s undoing today. No, mused Ihtisham. It is already her downfall. Today, it would be the catalyst for her unending pain and for his pleasure—of that, he would make sure. She would learn the lessons that pain could teach—of that, he would make sure too.
Already, her usual incessant pleading had been cowed. She stood chained to the wall of the makeshift group shower with nothing but a mix of new and fading bruises to cover her naked body. The self-consciousness and humiliation of bathing while another watched exuded from her like heavy perfume. Ihtisham drank it in. Her oozing fear tantalized his senses.
She cast furtive looks over her shoulder and would not bend over in front of him. Then the way she tried to wash with one hand and cover her breasts with the other—oh, it was glorious. Awkward attempts to cover herself failed. Her small hands were no match for her large breasts, which spilled between her fingers. Their stark whiteness glowed in contrast to her black and purple bruises from the beatings.
She tossed another anxious glance his way. Ihtisham leaned his slender body against the wall, tossed his long hair over his shoulder, then held his hand up. A slender knife twirled between his fingers and elicited a desperate moan from his charge.
“If you want a break from the cage, you’d better slow down. What’s the hurry? There’s nowhere for you to go.”
She closed her eyes and sighed. When she opened them, coyness flowed like silver moonlight. “If I hurry, I could spend the time doing . . . something else.”
She turned and faced him full on, letting him drink in the sight. Involuntarily, he licked his lips. Her body was exquisite; her face left unblemished to add power and pain to the video to come. Before he knew what he was doing, Ihtisham stepped closer.
“Turn around,” he commanded in a husky timbre.
With her eyes on the needle Ihtisham held, she complied. Now, she lathered herself up again but slowed down her movements. “This is what you like, isn’t it? I understand, though I am a little surprised. It’s OK. I won’t tell anyone.”
Ihtisham ignored her presumptive comment and just stared. This devil of a country overflowed with temptations. The girl was more attractive than most. And desperate. The need had poured from her the moment the needle appeared in Ihtisham’s hand.
“I bet me and you are more alike than you think,” she continued.
“You should not presume to know another’s mind. Be sure to clean everywhere. Maleek has the nose of a bear and will hit like one if any part of you is foul smelling.”
The words were a threat, but his now-glassy eyes and movement of his free hand toward his crotch stole its sharpness. His lust-filled eyes missed the girl’s knowing smile. She faced Ihtisham again, turned off the water, and stepped toward him.
“Would you like to make sure I’ve cleansed myself properly?”
Her tone was compliant and solicitous. It offered the promise of more, while her free hand reached for the needle and Ihtisham’s reached for her breasts.
“What are you doing?”
The question struck like lightning. The girl jumped back against the corner of the shower. Ihtisham froze. His eyes moved from the girl to look behind. There stood Maleek, and beside him stood another helper in the house. Shame flooded Ihtisham, but it was dispersed by pain when Maleek struck him in the face.
Ihtisham brought up his hands to cover his face and dropped the needle to the ground in the same movement. Then the girl scrambled after it, but the helper kicked her in the side even as Maleek struck Ihtisham again.
“Maleek, stop! My face. Do not strike my face. It will ruin the plan!”
“Plan? Is that what you were concerned with a moment ago? The plan?” Maleek struck out again. “Do you think me blind?” he roared. “I saw what you were doing. You compound one sin with the sin of falsehood!” Now, the openhanded strikes turned into ham-fisted punches, but this time they struck Ihtisham in the upper chest. The repeated blows spun him around into the wall, then to the floor.
Maleek left Ihtisham to recover and turned to the girl. Several new bruises, including on her jaw, glowed in the dim light of the shower. The sight caused a hard backhand strike to the head of the helper who had come with him. “I told you not to strike the face of the women. Can none of you follow simple instructions?” Then he turned to the girl. “You! What did you hope to gain? Did you plan to use the needle as a weapon?” The question ended with a menacing step toward the cowering figure on the floor.
“No, no,” she replied.
Maleek knew her words were true. She wanted the poison more than she wanted freedom. All their captives were the same, as were so many people walking around in this cesspool of a country. Americans felt themselves better than the rest of the world, better than the people of Allah. He had more contempt for their empty society than any of them could muster against Muslims.
“Get her back in her cage. Skip her dose. Make sure you bind her mouth. Keep her screams to a minimum.”
The helper grabbed the girl by the arm as Maleek turned back to Ihtisham.
“You told me you wanted to atone for your sins and weakness. Unless you repent before him, the gates of heaven and Allah’s mercy are closed to those such as you. Jihad is your path, but it is not for the weak of heart. You shame the heritage of your name with your actions. If clear redemption is not what you seek, your time is done here.”
“No, Maleek. Please!” Ihtisham pleaded. “There is still more I can do. I am weak, but I wish redemption. I must do this. You cannot deny it.”
“You deny yourself with your actions, but I will give you one more chance. Do not fail Allah or me again. Now, go home!” Ihtisham lived in a house in another neighborhood. “Rashad will make sure the girls are bathed from now on. Go!”
Ihtisham scrambled past Maleek. His face was flushed red with embarrassment and shame. He had almost failed—tempted by the girl beyond reason. He exited the shower area, walked down a corridor, and was soon walking past the bank of metal cages that lined either side of the large basement. Only two were empty. They were so close. So close to striking fear into the hearts of 320 million people. And he had almost . . . Ihtisham paused. He examined the room filled with undesirable young women missing from homes all over the city in which he lived. No one knew where they were. No one was looking for them. If the privileged girl had gained advantage, there would have been nowhere for her to go. She was like the others, stuck where they were. The thought calmed him. Yes, temptation had almost won—almost, but had not. Allah had seen to it, even as he calmed Ihtisham’s mind.
He did not know why Allah had placed such a burden on him and his family, but the temptation would not win again. Not when they were so close. Not when Ihtisham was so close.
Chapter Fifty-One
“These will be the best days of your life.”
Her therapist had spoken the words. Madison “Maddie” Jennings had found them a little too warm and fuzzy. Sure, the life cycle of moving from tween to teenager, and the awkwardness that followed, was an emotional minefield for normal kids. But Maddie was anything but normal, so the dangers of her minefield had ratcheted up tenfold.
Life had taken normal from Maddie long ago—six years ago, to be precise, when her Uncle Zavier—she called him Uncle Z—had rescued her from death at the hands of terrorists in a movie-theater shooting known around the world as The Christmas Day Massacre. He had lost his life for his efforts. So no, high school—after years in hiding, being forced to change her name,
and being homeschooled—would not be the best days of her life. And after several weeks as a freshman in the teenage holding pool called Galvin High, her presumption had been proven right.
She had managed to get into two fights in the first month there—and injure the school’s reigning football star, Andre Lewis, in one of them. It was all to save two boys who were being assaulted by bullies. Now, Andre was out for the season, which, for a championship team, meant everyone hated Maddie. On top of that, Galvin High’s teenage clones took their orders from the school’s bombshell bitch, Dorete Johnson—Andre’s girlfriend—and she made sure they all gave Maddie hell in addition to the hell they were already heaping on top of her. One of the only students in her corner was Tommy, one of the two boys Maddie had saved from the bullying. But he was a geek, which, of course, meant his high opinion of Maddie meant nothing.
Under normal circumstances, Maddie wouldn’t have cared less about all the backlash. But as punishment for her fighting, her mom had made her join the cheerleading squad—the last thing Maddie wanted to do. She was a girl who loved shooting guns and arrows, practicing martial arts, and competing with her dad in quasi-military competitions.
Maddie banged her head against her desk. Everything she’d been through in recent weeks made her feel like a character in some cheesy CW television show. No matter what she did that felt right and justified, she got into more hot water.
“Miss Jennings, am I so boring that you must instigate self-mutilation here in class?”
Without turning around, Maddie rolled her eyes.
“Face forward, please.”
Maddie huffed then swiveled toward the speaker. Her sister had warned her that high school could be hell but would be hell if she alienated the teachers. And she had done exactly that with her history teacher, Mr. Y Leiro.
The Madison Jennings Series Box Set Page 28